


three coins in a fountain, which one will it bless

by Cazio



Series: Concatenation [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cazio, M/M, OC, Post-Divorce, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), also some stucky talk, three coins in a fountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2876327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something terrible was about to happen, Steve could feel it. Getting in the car with Tony had been a huge mistake. It had been stepping into a snare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three coins in a fountain, which one will it bless

**Author's Note:**

> once again, thanks to shae for the beta. this one needed work!
> 
> to be clear, this series will not be taking the stucky route, BUT it is acknowledged in this part so i've tagged it (sort of). i ship stucky like nothing else, but it ain't happenin' here.
> 
>   
> _"Three coins in a fountain,_  
>  _Through the ripples, how they shine,_  
>  _Just one wish will be granted,_  
>  _One heart will wear a valentine._  
>  _Make it mine,_  
>  _Make it mine,_  
>  _Make it mine."_  
>  -Three Coins In The Fountain, Doris Day
> 
>  
> 
> _[fifteen years after]_  
> 

 

Shafts of morning sunlight washed the room in a pleasant light and the sounds of songbirds drifted in from outside. The day had only just begun, and it looked like it was going to be a gorgeous day.

Peter smiled at him from underneath the shadow of his graduation cap. Steve smiled back before dusting off the photograph and replacing it on the wall he had taken it from. A year had already passed since that day. Peter already looked older than he had at his graduation. His voice had gotten deeper too.

The house was in order, finally. Steve had spent a whole week scrubbing it down and cleaning every surface, from the false granite countertops to the plastic wood dining table. It felt nice to have a clean house, though Steve hadn’t realized it had gotten so dirty. Then again, he hadn’t really been home a lot. Living in Maine provided far too much adventure and too many community events for him to be dwelling at home. Well, except for the patio.

The patio (it was actually a screened-in porch) had turned into what Bucky called “da Vinci’s workshop.” Paint tubes in various states of use were littered all over the floor. Sets of oil pastels were scattered among canvas scraps and pieces of wood frames. Half-finished paintings were stacked against the walls, and a few sketchbooks lay open on whatever surface space was available.

His therapist said that his art helped him heal. Steve believed her.

A pair of yowls made Steve look up from washing his hands and head toward the door. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and leaned in the doorway as two sports cars growled into view.

Across the street, the curtains moved and Bucky appeared, eyes ringed with dark circles and his hair in disarray.

Steve waved at him with a smile.

Bucky returned it with a groggy grin of his own, and then he was gone from the window.

A Lamborghini and a Ferrari pulled into Steve’s gravel driveway, one bright yellow, the other bright red. Both Tony’s.

A chorus of barking began at the side of the house and Steve laughed as three Golden Retrievers and a German Shepherd raced from the side yard, all of them sopping wet.

Tony honked the Ferrari, but that only set the dogs howling as they danced around the cars, looking every so often at Steve.

“Down, guys,” Steve called. “Come.”

All four dogs immediately ran for the porch to sit in front of the steps, watching the new arrivals with tongues lolling out of their mouths.

Steve headed down the stairs as everyone emerged, first going to Peter.

“Pops, hey,” Peter greeting, setting down his luggage to give Steve a hug.

“Hey, Petey,” Steve greeted, his voice muffled by Peter’s shoulder. “How were finals?”

Peter pulled back and raised his brows with a sigh. “Finals went fine. Some of my professors though…”

“They think he’s going to be like me,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Let’s hope not,” Steve chuckled. He looked to Tony. “Good to see you. I hope everything is going well.”

Tony. Tony, who had more grey in his hair every time Steve saw him. They had joked about grey hair many times over the years, and Tony had always pretended to loathe age. But he wore it well and he knew it. Though, obviously, Steve was the king. Steve didn’t look any older than maybe thirty.

“Everything’s peachy, Spangles,” Tony said with a smile. “Especially since I won getting here.”

“You did not.”

Steve turned, smiling out of habit. Jackson Slade was rolling his eyes as he stepped away from the Lamborghini. Harry emerged from the other side, throwing Steve a wave.

“Hey Harry,” Steve said with a return wave before extending a hand to Jackson. “Jackson, great to see you.”

“You as well, Captain Rogers,” Jackson returned in his smooth baritone, giving a respectful dip of his head.

Jackson was probably the most fashionable person Steve had ever met.  Not to mention he was a beautiful person to begin with. Steve wasn’t attracted to him, but he recognized a handsome man when he saw one. Jackson was darker than Sam, with a demeanor that oozed an intimidating confidence, but his eyes were warm and kind. He always wore tailored suits and Italian leather shoes, with platinum cuff links and occasionally a pair of simple earrings to match. Oh, and his trademark black-rimmed glasses that said “professional businessman you don’t want to mess with.”

And that he was. Jackson Slade was in the same tax bracket as Tony, with a collection of companies that apparently rivaled the success of Stark Industries. But Steve wouldn’t have guessed it by looking at him—Jackson, despite his fancy tastes, was about the most humble person Steve had ever met. It was impossible to hate him.

His therapist said to welcome Jackson. That welcoming him would make it easier.

Steve believed her.

“Do you guys need any help bringing anything in?” Steve asked.

Jackson shook his head. “No, no. You’ve been far too kind already, Steve. Letting us stay here, making us dinner—just let me know where we’ll be sleeping and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Tony shoved his duffel toward Steve. “I’m not as nice as him.”

Steve smiled, hefting the duffel onto his shoulder as Jackson gave Tony a look.

“Hey,” Steve heard Tony say behind him. “He’s my ex-husband. I’m trying to keep up an image here.”

The dogs were waiting as patiently as they could, all of their tails wagging so furiously that they were dusting the dirt from the concrete path up to the porch.

“And who are these guys?” Jackson chuckled, though he kept his distance from the wet fur and slobbery tongues.

“Oh, right.” Steve laughed, pausing in front of the dogs. “This is Charlie,” he pointed to the palest, largest, and fluffiest of his retrievers. “Lucy,” the darkest of the three goldens, with a slight curl to her coat. “Fluffernutter—Fluffy for short,” the youngest of the three retrievers, and Sam’s personal favorite. “And the Shepherd is Nikolai.”

“Steve’s therapy dog,” Tony added. “And the damn best-trained canine on the planet.”

Steve swallowed, then reached out to scratch Nikolai between the ears. “Yep, he’s my buddy.”

“Really? That’s fantastic!” Jackson exclaimed with a grin.

Steve’s teeth weren’t half as white as his. 

His therapist said he shouldn’t compare himself to Jackson. She said it would only make his feelings worse.

Embrace Jackson. Befriend him.

“Yeah, he’s a great dog. They aren’t allowed in the house when they’re wet though.” Steve motioned toward the door. “Go on in.”

Peter and Harry were already raiding the fridge, talking about their trips up. Harry had gone with Jackson, Peter with Tony.

“You guys are right up here,” Steve said, heading up the worn wooden stairs toward one of his guest bedrooms.  The room was cozy, but it was the only other room besides the master that had a double bed. Steve had bought it for when Peter got married, but…well, he supposed this worked too. He set Tony’s duffel on the bed. “Right in here.”

Jackson looked around the room. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. In fact, he smiled and looked somehow more relaxed. “Look at this place. I love it.”

“You still need to call that interior decorator, Steve,” Tony said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by. “But the view is fantastic.”

The Atlantic shimmered outside the window, through a screen of lush leaves from the oak tree in the back yard. A calming view, the only better one being that of the master bedroom.

“Well, you two get settled in and I’ll get the boys to unpack,” Steve said with a little nod.

Tony turned, one eyebrow cocked. “Is Bucky coming for dinner?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. He’s never been so great with crowds.”

Bucky had said he would stay up the whole night with the lights on, just in case Steve had to step out and needed a place to go. Bucky had also said he would try to kill Tony if he saw him. As though getting a boyfriend after fifteen years of divorce was somehow a betrayal.

“Did you really bring three watches?” Jackson asked as he started unpacking Tony’s clothes. “And the Rolex? Really?”

“You can’t talk. How much is that suit you’re wearing right now?” Tony countered, knocking Jackson fondly with his shoulder.

“I came from work, Tones, unlike you.”

Tones. Steve slipped away before he could hear more.

His therapist said that he was always going to find similarities between Jackson and Tony’s relationship and his and Tony’s old relationship. Tones was a completely reasonable nickname for Tony.

Nikolai stood at the door, staring at Steve with the gaze that said he was aware of the tension. Steve smiled, even though he knew Nikolai was a dog and smiling didn’t change anything.

Nikolai’s tail wagged once then stilled.

Steve headed into the kitchen before he could let himself be alone with his thoughts.

His therapist said it was his self-isolation that had caused him to get so bad. He believed her.

“Peter, wait until dinner,” Steve scolded lightly as he found Peter shoveling down handfuls of potato chips.

“Awh, Popsh,” Peter said around the chips. “We jus droff like forepher and I had to listen to Dad’s life story for like the hunreffh time.”

Harry just sat there, looking horrified that he’d been caught eating before dinner.

Steve just chuckled. “Fine, but just chips. I’ve spent all day getting this pot roast up to par with your dad and Jackson’s tastes.”

Peter let out a snort. “Jackson would eat dog food if you served it to him. _And_ he’d pretend to like it.”

Harry laughed and Steve noticed just how…adult they looked. Harry’s sharp jaw echoed his father’s, and there was stubble shadowing his cheeks. Harry reminded him of Bucky, and evidently had the same appeal to women.

Peter, thankfully, hadn’t taken his father’s womanizing route in his romance and instead was still dating Mary Jane. Not even a year of college and a distance from Boston to New York had separated them.

Sometimes Steve wondered if his and Tony’s divorce had somehow helped Peter to discern what a good relationship was supposed to be like. Peter dealt with relationship problems so gently and with so much concern for Mary Jane that it made Steve feel like he had been a fool to ever think he and Tony were in love with each other. Peter was only nineteen and already displaying more maturity in his relationship than Steve ever had in his.

“Well I’d prefer for Jackson not to have to pretend to like my cooking,” Steve finally replied. “And I’d prefer to have the both of you able to eat it.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Rogers. I hold the dining hall record at Northwestern. Eight full plates from the buffet line on burger night,” Harry said.

“Harry, do you want anything to drink? Peter?” Steve asked when he noticed there were no drinks on the table. “I have water, apple juice, orange juice, and some ginger ale. Oh, and cream soda.”

He realized Peter probably had no idea where the glasses were.

“Cream soda for me,” Peter said with a full mouth.

“I’ll have some orange juice,” said Harry.

Steve started pouring glasses and remembered why he had come downstairs in the first place. “You boys need to unpack. Might as well do it tonight before you start tearing up the town.”

Harry and Peter burst out laughing.

Steve handed over their drinks with a smile.

Harry explained. “I’m here for the ladies, Mr. Rogers. Peter’s just gonna pine for MJ the whole time.”

“Or you can hang out with your dad,” Steve teased. “I look close enough to your age.”

“No way, Pops,” Peter said before taking a swig of his cream soda.

“Hey now, he’s an attractive guy.”

Steve turned to see Tony making his way into the kitchen, his sunglasses resting on top of his head. Jackson was close behind.

Steve quickly looked away when he spied a hiccy peeking out from beneath Tony’s collar, his cheeks flushing pink.

His therapist said that Tony had no obligation to him, just as Steve had no obligation to Tony in his romantic life.

New love meant Tony was growing.

No love meant Steve was stagnant.

And he’d been stagnant for fifteen years. What did that say about him?

“Dad, you’re not allowed to call Pops attractive anymore,” Peter muttered.

“Oh please. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t have an aesthetically pleasing appearance,” Tony said, pushing past Steve to get in the fridge.

Steve never realized how careful Tony had been with him until that carefulness had disappeared.

“Tony, I’ll get—“

“Look at him. Harry, you’re straight, right? Are you gonna tell me Steve isn’t an attractive man?”

Harry looked utterly bewildered at the question.

“Dad!” Peter hissed.

Tony turned around and Steve found himself being given a lookdown by his ex-husband that he didn’t much like.

It must have showed on his face because Jackson stepped in and shook his head minutely.

Of course, Tony didn’t pay attention to minute cues when he didn’t feel like he had to. “What? He hasn’t aged a day since I met him. What’d you always say, Steve? I’d end up with the platinum crown, you with the gold?”

Steve remembered lying in bed with Tony, the way the morning sun had hazed through the windows. He remembered combing his fingers through Tony’s dark hair, talking about how they would grow old together. About how Tony would grow old and Steve wouldn’t.

Well, at least it wouldn’t be as painful as Steve had originally planned.

“Yes, I remember,” Steve said curtly. “Now, are you going to have something to drink, old man, or are you going to keep bringing up a marriage that’s been over for fifteen years?”

With anyone else but Tony, it would have been taken as a scathing retort. But Tony just laughed and gave Jackson’s chest a pat. “I’ll take orange juice. What about you, Apples?”

Jackson sighed, pinching his nose. “Water’s fine. Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem,” Steve replied. He didn’t ask about Jackson’s nickname. He didn’t want to hear any stories about Jackson.

“So, how’s life on a waterfront property, Spangles?” Tony asked as he plopped down in a chair next to Peter.

Steve’s dining room was entirely too small for five grown men to be sitting in, but he never had company, so he supposed it would have to do for the next few days.

“It’s just what I wanted. Quiet, plenty to do if I decide to go into town, and a great view all year round,” Steve replied as he handed Jackson his water and Tony his orange juice.

“How’s the lobster?” Tony asked after taking a sip.

“Best I’ve ever had.”

Steve had never realized how suffocating New York had become until he left it. Fresh air was his drug now—and Bucky was the only person that could keep up with him to enjoy it. Now he only felt at ease when his heart was trying to escape his ribcage and his lungs were burning white-hot in his chest.

“You still paint, right, Pops?” Peter asked.

Steve nodded with a smile. “Sure do. I turned the back porch into a studio over the winter. It’s been working out great.”

“And you’re…everything’s okay?”

Steve blinked, licking his lips once because Jackson and Harry were in the room. Mostly because Jackson was in the room. “Yeah, Pete, everything’s okay.”

Peter gave him a relieved smile and went back to eating his chips.

Tony stared at him for a fraction of a second too long, then turned his attention back to his juice.

“How long have you been living here again, Steve?” Jackson asked, turning a little to look at him over the back of the chair.

Jackson knew. He knew about Tony’s PTSD infected, depression ravaged ex husband. He probably knew about Steve’s ridiculously embarrassing fits too.

“I moved in last September, so almost a year now,” Steve replied.

_Just a little longer than you’ve been dating Tony_ , he wanted to say. 

His therapist said he shouldn’t be angry at Tony for moving on. Tony didn’t owe him anything, no matter what he had said in the past. Even if he’d said he loved him.

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure the tourists will be fun this summer. I have a villa in Tuscany—let me tell you, it’s impossible to go anywhere without waiting in line. My assistant has to drive thirty minutes just to buy milk.”

“Oh, Steve knows,” Tony said. “We went to all of the major cities one year for a summer vacation.”

Tony said it so casually, as though Steve hadn’t been shaking every time they boarded a train, refusing to look out the window because he had been so scared of seeing corpses piled in the fields and machine guns poking from the rocky outcroppings.

But he did remember the tourists, the way they nudged him back and forth as he stared up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, dwarfed and awed by the magnificent work of art from centuries ago, still there in all of its glory. Restored, of course. Every crackling piece of fresco replaced and repainted when time took her tithes.

“Well,” Jackson said. “Next time you’re over there, just let me know. I love Italy, I have tons of friends there that would happily give you a place to stay for however long you’re visiting.”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure Jackson was actually talking to him, but he smiled anyway.

The boys got to talking, so Steve checked to make sure dinner was still going to be done on time, participating in conversation only when it was asked of him.

His therapist said not to exclude himself.  He was wanted here, and loved. He believed her.

That didn’t mean it was easy.

 

* * *

 

 

“Those are all fireflies?” Peter asked curiously as Steve’s front yard twinkled with little golden lights. He stared out the window like he was a child again, not a soon-to-be sophomore in college.

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. There’s no city smog out here. Bugs can actually survive.”

“Cool.”

There was the sound of dishes clinking in the sink as Jackson washed them (he had insisted despite Steve’s pleas that he would do it himself), and the soft sound of snoring from the couch where Harry had drifted off to sleep, exhausted from all of the excitement. Peter looked like he was going to conk out any minute.

“Why don’t you two head up to bed?” Steve nodded toward Harry.

Peter yawned, nodding once. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll see you in the morning. I usually get back around nine thirty, so don’t be worried if I’m not there. And the dogs will all be here so you don’t have to worry about anyone—“

“Pops—Pops, we’ll be fine. We probably won’t wake up until noon anyway, like you said,” Peter said. “I haven’t slept in like two weeks and neither has Harry. We just got done with class two days ago.”

“Right. Well, just in case.”

Peter went over to get Harry up while Steve whistled out the front door to call the dogs. All four came bounding across the street from where they had been hanging out at Bucky’s, but didn’t enter the house until Steve made sure they hadn’t gone for a dip in the water since he’d washed them down right before dinner. They were dry and clean, so Steve let them inside.

Fluffernutter headed straight up the stairs to his bed with Lucy tagging along right at his heels. Charlie went straight for Jackson in the kitchen, his tail wagging furiously. Nikolai greeted Steve with a sniff and then headed to check out all of the inhabitants of the house one by one.

Steve had never thought of himself as a dog person, but now he couldn’t imagine life without his four pets. They gave his life routine and purpose—they needed him to survive. And since the town was so dog-friendly, the only places they couldn’t go were the restaurants. It was like having four kids. Kind of. They gave him something to focus on when exercise and painting weren’t enough.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Steve glanced at Tony, who was facing away from him and presumably watching Jackson, just to make sure it wasn’t a call for the Avengers.

It wasn’t.

 

_Packin’ in for the night. You need anything? – JB_

 

Steve looked out the screen door to Bucky’s little house, where the siding was covered in moss that crept down from the roof and the windows were always dark. During the day, at least. At night, there was only ever one or two lights, and never any movement.

Steve leaned his head against the doorframe, looking up to Bucky’s bedroom window where a golden light shone through.

So many people asked him if he loved Bucky Barnes. So many times, Steve wished he did. He wished he could fall in love with the man who had been through hell and back for him, with him, and through everything else along the way. He wished he could look in Bucky’s steel blue eyes, hardened from war and murder and torture, and love him.

But he couldn’t. For one, Bucky had made it very clear that he was straight, and two; Steve just wasn’t attracted to him. Sometimes he tried to will himself to see Bucky’s handsomeness as more than just…handsome, but he couldn’t. Bucky was his best friend, his brother, the one person who he knew for certain would never leave.

Maybe that was why Steve sometimes wished he loved him. Because if he loved Bucky, then he would never have to fear ending up in the life he was currently living.

 

_Nope, everything is fine here. I’ll see you in the morning. Good to know you’ll actually be getting some sleep. – SR_

 

He sent the text with a little smile curling at his lips, but an ache in his heart.

This was Jackson’s fault, as much as Steve knew his therapist would disagree. Jackson was making him feel like he was alone because Tony wasn’t alone.

He never should have agreed to let them stay for the weekend/

Jackson shouldn’t have been so damn charming. Or easygoing. Or warmhearted.

Jackson was perfect, honestly. Steve could see it just as much as everyone else. Jackson never once allowed any awkwardness between himself and Tony’s ex husband. He had met Steve one-on-one on several occasions when Steve had been visiting in New York, just to discuss what Steve would be comfortable with. Never once had he crossed the line, nor had he even neared it.

And Steve had given him so much to be careful of. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that he was so self-conscious and uncomfortable whenever Tony—a not-single Tony—was around.

No kissing. No lovers’ whispering or joking or cute teasing or neck kisses or swaying in each other’s arms. No ‘I love you’s or nose rubs or nuzzles or slow dancing with no music. No calling Peter ‘son’ or giving him special gifts on his birthday or Christmas. No talking about sex or rehashing dates or visits to Italy or talking about previous lovey dovey things.

Steve had listed everything, angry and upset because Tony was really gone, Tony was really leaving him for good.

And all Jackson had done was nod in a serious manner and repeat everything as he recorded Steve’s every request.

Jackson said he would never do any of those things around Steve because though he couldn’t understand completely, he wanted to try, and if Steve didn’t want those things going on, he wouldn’t do it.

Jackson was perfect.

The light in Bucky’s house went off and a wet nose pressed into his palm. Nikolai nudged insistently at his thigh until Steve scratched him between the ears.

He wondered if Tony knew about his list of requests. He probably did.

He wondered what Tony thought about them.

Nikolai nudged his thigh again and Steve opened the screen door to step outside into the fresh air.

His therapist said to take deep breaths when he started feeling empty. When his lungs rattled because of his sadness, not sickness.

Steve inhaled and exhaled, slow and steady.

His therapist said to talk to Nikolai.

He took purposeful strides around to the side of the house and forced himself not to think about how life would just go on if he wasn’t there.

How meaningless he was now that Peter was in college and on his own.

How he would end up living alone and empty, always.

Nikolai whined, rounding to be in front of him and letting out a bark.

Steve sat on one of the cement stepping stones he’d made at craft class in the fall with a bunch of old ladies from the quilting store in town.

Soft fur, soft fur.

He rested his cheek on Nikolai’s shoulder, stroking his sleek coat and burying his fingers in the warmth that was always trapped in the second layer of his thick fur.

Nikolai rested his muzzle comfortably on Steve’s shoulder as he just breathed slow. A coastal breeze caressed them, blowing away the sticky heat for a moment, allowing Steve to feel less like he was suffocating.

Maybe he was the one who had problems with a crowded house, not Bucky.

“Good boy,” Steve whispered, scratching Nikolai’s ribs. “Good boy.”

Nikolai wagged his tail in the darkness, shooing away a few lazy fireflies that had ventured too close.

Soft fur, deep breaths. Soft fur, deep breaths.

 

* * *

 

 

Sticks cracked beneath Steve’s feet as he tore through the woods, and branches snapped against his rips and shoulders. He was chasing something, or something was chasing him. When he ran, he let his mind go where it wanted, think what it wanted.

With a sharp breath, he vaulted a boulder and found himself twenty feet in the air over a gully. His mind relished the challenge as he fell, and picked out a safe-looking spot to land and roll easily with a leafy forest floor as a cushion.

A root that had been hidden beneath the leaves struck his spine, but Steve hardly felt it as he was on his feet again, racing up the opposite side of the gully, imagining himself as a lion, then as a horse.

The sound of waves made him smile and he veered right, ducking between trees to and breaching from the forest to meet the sun as it burst from beneath the horizon line of the Atlantic. Clouds loomed with red underbellies, but Steve continued on, unperturbed.

“The fuck are you on this morning?!?” Bucky panted as he hoofed it to catch up.

Steve didn’t slow as they approached town. Groggy tourists huddled outside the lone coffeehouse, rubbing their arms and muttering to themselves, wary of the approach of two sprinting men.

Steve led the charge, careening around fisherman and earlybirds as he made his way down the street at the center of town.

“Steve, you’re killin’ me!” Bucky hissed, but Steve heard the smirk on his lips as he said it.

Before long, they had left town and were close to home, never once slowing. Mile after mile, turn after turn, Steve only pushed faster, his lungs screaming and his heart roaring in his chest. He lengthened his lead, his eyes only focused on the ground ahead and nothing more.

He had to get home, even if he didn’t want to be there. Even if he didn’t want to pretend he had gotten sleep last night instead of sitting awake, wondering if every noise was one of Jackson and Tony in the bedroom next door.

“Steve!”

Bucky’s cry found him too late.

Something rammed into his right side and suddenly Steve was truly soaring as he miscalculated his dodge.

Gravel took a nasty bite of his cheek as he slammed into the ground and rolled, skinning his arms, hands and chest. Not anything that wouldn’t heal in an hour, but painful nonetheless.

The angry clouds spun above him as he lay there, half on grass, half on gravel, staring blankly at the sky.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Bucky was yelling as Steve slowly began to regain his thoughts.

“Shut up, Tin Man. I tapped him, calm the fuck down and quit screaming!”

Tony’s voice, thick with sleepiness.

Bucky appeared above him, his brows pinned and his chest heaving. He reached down with his metal hand.

Steve gripped it, and hauled himself to his feet.

Tony stood there with a sour expression, his eyes bloodshot. If Steve didn’t know better, he would have said it was a hangover.

“You’re all cut up. Jesus, look at you.” Bucky let out a huff, gingerly prodding Steve’s arms. “Your goddamn ex hit you with his car. Both of you are dumbasses, I swear.” Bucky thwapped him on the head with his flesh hand, jarring Steve to alertness. “Look where you’re goin’, ya hear me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and cuffed Bucky over the head in return. “Yeah, yeah.”

The world was still spinning a bit, but not bad enough that he didn’t know what was going on. “Tony, why are you up?”

Tony scowled at him. “You don’t have any coffee. A coffee machine, but no coffee.”

Steve frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Bucky advanced like an angry guard dog. “He ain’t sorry. It ain’t his fault.”

“Buck, leave him be,” Steve warned, still breathing hard. “He’s always cranky when he doesn’t have his caffeine.

Bucky turned with a look in his eyes that was a cocktail of anger, pity, and something like hurt.

Steve’s frown deepened. “What?”

Bucky just shook his head. “Don’t you let him make you reckless, Steve,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t you dare let that happen. We came out here to get you away from him. I’m not gonna let him tear apart everything you got yourself away from.” Bucky stepped closer, just as angry as he had been so many times before when Steve was skinny and small and covered in bruises. “You start feelin’ like shit, you call me. You come to the door, you just don’t talk to him or his goddamn boyfriend. Don’t do it. Got that?”

If Bucky hadn’t been so clearly upset about it, Steve would have made a joke. Instead, he nodded slowly. “Got it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his breathing already almost normal again. “You worked too hard to let it all come crumblin’ down, Steve.”

“I know.”

“Hey, can I get my coffee now?” Tony snarled, arms crossed. “Steve, show me where the hell there’s a Starbucks around here. Hell, I’ll even take a Tim Horton’s, just get me some coffee.”

Bucky shook his head a little. “Steve, don’t you—“

“I’ll show you. Start the car.”

Bucky looked like he was going to explode.

Steve flashed a weak smile. “I’ve got this, Buck. He wants coffee. I highly doubt anything is going to come up that’s going to ruin my progress in twenty minutes.”

He ruffled Bucky’s sweaty hair and then stepped past him to head to the Ferrari. There wasn’t even a dent where Steve had collided with the back end.

“You can just give me directions,” Tony muttered, eyeing his skinned arms.

“And let you try to find your way back? No thanks,” Steve chuckled as he went around to the other side of the car. He was sweaty, but his breathing had slowed to a normal pace. No one would guess that he had gone one a thirty-mile run.

The Ferrari purred to life once Tony got in, and it was the only sound as they pulled out of the driveway.

Bucky glared at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Steve looked away. He could handle this. It was just a little drive with Tony. And really, they had been divorced for fifteen years. Bucky was being dramatic.

“Am I gonna like this coffee?” Tony asked awhile later, after they drove past the shop to look for a place to park.

“Probably not,” Steve replied.

He could feel a question boiling in his gut and tickling the back of his tongue.

A question he couldn’t ask. A question he wouldn’t ask.

Tony wasn’t making conversation or making jokes or even commenting about how much this car cost like he might have done before. Tony used to want a conversation with him.

Steve was beginning to understand what normal divorced couples felt like.

He should have listened to Bucky.

The car stopped and for a moment neither of them moved. Steve looked out the side window at the growing storm clouds and Tony stared out over the steering wheel.

Damn it all to hell.

“Do you still love me?” Steve asked quietly, fogging the glass with his breath.

“We’re not having this conversation. I want my coffee.”

But Tony didn’t get out.

“Do you love him?” Steve tried, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” Tony answered matter-of-factly.

It wasn’t a surprise. Steve had known the first time Tony called him to say that the tabloids were right, that he and Jackson Slade were together.

He looked at Tony, swallowing hard. “Is…Is it easier to know now? That you love someone?”

Tony looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to, so you fight it the whole way. And it’s not fair to them. None of this is fair. It’s not fair to you or me or him.”

Steve nodded once, and moved to open the door.

“Steve, wait.” Tony’s hand touched his arm, immediately freezing him.

“Wait for what, Tony? What is there to wait for?”

Tony’s eyes were soft. “I just wanted to say that…I mean, I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I’m really proud of you. You, uh, you look happy.”

“I am happy,” Steve said, but right now he felt numb.

“I’m happy too, Steve. I…” Tony ran a hand through his hair, a smile breaking out on his face. “I waited for you to change you mind for so long, y’know? I was still waiting when I met him. And for the longest time I wouldn’t go out with him, I wouldn’t even attend the same events, because I was still waiting for you.”

Tony leaned his head back, his smile ticking up a little more. “And then I just let him in and I’m so happy. Like, I’m happy again. I thought I was happy waiting for you but now I really feel happy. I feel like I’m young again, y’know? I feel like—I don’t know. I feel great.”

Steve wanted so badly to be happy for Tony, but he couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t fair, because Tony wasn’t his and had every right to be happy however he wanted to be.

But it still hurt. It hurt so damn bad.

“That’s great, Tony,” Steve said. “I’m glad.”

Tony’s smile fell ad he shook his head. “No you’re not. I know you, Spangles. You’re not glad.”

Steve looked away, ashamed. “Tony…”

“You were never going to come back to me, were you?” Tony asked quietly.

The harbor glimmered orange in the light of the rising sun, with ribbons of shredded blue decorating the surface.

“We had our chance—“

“We were young, Steve. Fifteen years ago. You know how much I’ve learned in fifteen years?” Tony shook his head. “You were never coming back, just say it.”

Steve looked Tony in the eye, unsure of what to say. “My therapist says I’m not allowing myself to move on.” He sighed. “I know it isn’t right, but I still love you, Tony. I’m jealous of Jackson. Every time I see the two of you together I feel like I’m interrupting something. I like him, I do, but it hurts me to see you two.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I’m sorry it hurts you, Steve, but I’m not hurting Jackson just to spare you some hard feelings.”

Hurt lashed through Steve’s chest. “That’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel so you’ll know.”

His therapist said it would help. He believed her.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get your coffee.”

“Yeah.”

They entered the coffee shop ahead of the tourists because the barista recognized Steve. Locals got special service lines here.

Tony ordered his drink (one for Jackson too), and tipped the barista a twenty. She hurried off to get his drinks with a smile.

“So,” Tony asked as they waited. “Have you even been on a date since the divorce? Ever?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope.”

His therapist said he shouldn’t be proud of that, but he was. It made him feel strong that he had never bent to what everyone expected of him.

“Barnes?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. You know that would never happen.”

“I bet you’re proud of that, huh? Never going on a date?”

Steve blinked, his cheeks turning pink. Surely he wasn’t that easy to read.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’ve always been like that, Steve. You have some sort of deluded sense of duty about everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” Tony muttered.  He grabbed his coffees and handed them over to Steve. “Let’s go.”

Something terrible was about to happen, Steve could feel it. Getting in the car with Tony had been a huge mistake. It had been stepping into a snare. They headed out to the car and Steve dreaded every step. The coffees were warm in his scraped-up hands, but Steve could only feel a chill.

Something had just happened in that coffee shop, and Steve somehow knew that he and Tony were going to be different now. He had never once brought up Bucky before, not even when most of the Avengers were sure something had to be going on.

They didn’t speak again until they turned into the driveway.

Tony turned to him after the car was in park. “I’m marrying him, Steve. And when I marry him, I’m staying married. No divorce this time. I’m married forever.”

He had expected this.

Tony wasn’t finished. “And once I’m married, I’m not doing this shit anymore. I’m not coming by to see you—no more surprise visits or Christmas cards with handwritten notes or calling you for advice or anything.”

Tears welled in Steve’s eyes and he gripped the door tightly. “Stop.”

“No. I’ve spent fifteen goddamn years waiting for you to change your mind,” Tony snapped. “You are always my first priority. If you want to try again, I’ll drop Jackson. I’ll hate it, but I would rather have a second chance with you—I mean that.”

“Tony—“

“Your window is closing up, right here, right now. Once I marry Jackson, if you say you want me back, I’m—I’m gonna turn you away. I will. Because it’s not fair that he loves me so much and I’m stuck on you.”

Steve handed Tony the coffees in his hands without a word and stepped out of the car. Nikolai burst from the door as Jackson stepped out, looking a little worried.

Tony put on a smile. “Morning. I got you coffee.”

“I was wondering where you went,” Jackson said with a laugh, crossing the yard to grab his coffee. He didn’t even glance at Steve like any other reasonable boyfriend would do if their boyfriend’s ex husband just emerged from a sports car with tears in his eyes.

“Hey, Nik,” Steve said shakily, scratching Nikolai’s neck. “It’s okay.”

The front door slammed and Steve looked up to see Bucky standing there, his face unreadable.

Steve waved. “Hey, Buck. Didn’t know you were visiting.”

He had a feeling Bucky was the reason for Jackson’s worried expression.

Bucky stormed across the lawn, his metal arm glinting in the morning sun. “You okay?”

Steve smiled brokenly and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Tony was getting married. To Jackson. Peter was going to have a stepfather almost as wealthy as Tony, with a humble heart and kind spirit unmarred by war like Steve’s.

“You didn’t get any coffee,” Bucky said. “What’s up, huh?”

Steve glanced over at Tony and Jackson, who were laughing about something.

“Let’s get inside. It’s getting hot.”

“I just stopped by to see what was for breakfast,” Bucky said, though it was clear he was lying. He was still wearing his running clothes.

“Okay.” Steve wasn’t going to push it. Bucky was just looking out for him, but he could handle himself. He could handle this news and watch his life fall apart.

Bucky gave a curt nod and left without saying goodbye to Tony or Jackson, but they didn’t seem to notice. They were lost in their own little world, though Jackson was trying not to be obvious about it.

Nikolai pawed at Steve’s sweats, letting out a whine.

“Right, time to eat,” Steve said. He patted Nikolai’s head and hurried into the house.

He wondered if Pepper had ever felt this way about him and Tony being together. She was a professional woman and she had ended her relationship with Tony on good terms, but Steve always felt like she was hurt by them. Pepper went out with a few guys, but never married.

There was no cure for Tony Stark, it seemed.

His therapist said that was a lie. Steve didn’t believe her.

Despite all of the noise in Steve’s head, the house was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the ticking clock on the far wall.

Charlie, Lucy, and Fluffernutter were lined up in the kitchen, wagging their tails as they waited for breakfast. Nikolai stayed at Steve’s side, stress-panting as Steve portioned out their meals in their separate bowls.  

It would be easier when Tony and Jackson were gone and he only had Peter and Harry to look after. A month to spend time with Peter and show him the things his father was too caught up in his tech and luxury to see.

He had learned in all this time that he didn’t need Tony in his life to find happiness. Peter was Steve’s world, but he no longer depended on his son to bring the joy into his life. He had toiled for three years in therapy, moved to a new state, taken in a therapy dog, adopted three others, and made a new life for himself. Now he was happy because he made himself that way. He made his own experiences and found himself in them.

So he would stand by and let the love of his life get married to someone else.

Even if he knew it would be just to prove he could.

He fed his dogs and stood back as they attacked their food, crossing his arms. Then he turned his gaze to look out the screen door to where Jackson was holding Tony to his chest in a hug and kissing his hair.

Jackson thought they were out of Steve’s sight, but Tony had his eyes open and was staring Steve dead in the face.

Steve lifted a hand and gave him a thumbs-up. A weak smile found its way onto his face. He would do this, and he would survive.

Tony closed his eyes tightly and turned his face away to burrow into Jackson’s chest.

In the scheme of things, a lifetime wasn’t all that long to suffer through.


End file.
